


I Promise

by veritascara



Series: Ad Astra [9]
Category: Rogue One: A Star Wars Story (2016), Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars: Rebels
Genre: Amniotic Fluid, Angst and Feels, Blood, Canon Compliant, Childbirth, F/M, Family Issues, Flashbacks, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Healing, Non-Explicit Sex, Parent-Child Relationship, Pregnancy, Reconciliation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-03
Updated: 2020-02-03
Packaged: 2021-02-19 00:14:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 17,965
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22535440
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/veritascara/pseuds/veritascara
Summary: When the Rebel Alliance faces its greatest battle yet, Hera is drawn into the fray to help, yet quickly finds herself confronting a crisis of her own.
Relationships: C1-10P | Chopper & Hera Syndulla, CT-7567 | Rex & Hera Syndulla, Cham Syndulla & Hera Syndulla, Garazeb "Zeb" Orrelios & Hera Syndulla, Hera Syndulla & Hera Syndulla's Mother, Hera Syndulla & Jacen Syndulla, Kanan Jarrus/Hera Syndulla
Series: Ad Astra [9]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1051133
Comments: 31
Kudos: 95





	I Promise

**Author's Note:**

> Just like waiting for a real baby, after all these months, it's finally here! This story, which I started writing nearly two years ago while still working on "Synchronicity" has been a true labor of love for me (pun intended), and I dearly hope that you all enjoy the closure to this arc of Hera's difficult emotional journey. 
> 
> A million thanks to all of you who have stuck with me and patiently waited the entire time for this! I love and appreciate all of you and your heart-warming feedback. And welcome to all the wonderful new readers who have recently discovered Rebels and brought your energy and enthusiasm with you!
> 
> My eternal gratitude to [uhura_ismylastname](https://archiveofourown.org/users/uhura_ismylastname/pseuds/uhura_ismylastname) and [Anoray](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Anoray/pseuds/Anoray) for being my betas through thick and thin on this series and talking me through many near-meltdowns, and to [gondalsqueen](https://archiveofourown.org/users/gondalsqueen/pseuds/gondalsqueen) as well for her invaluable feedback on this story.
> 
> (Also, many thanks to Dave Filoni for giving this pregnancy/babyfic lover the best gift ever—a canon OTP baby to play with.)
> 
> As a disclaimer: please heed the tags. While not particularly graphic, this story is a realistic picture of birth and does get intense. I have been a nurse working in labor and delivery for well over a decade, and I did NOT come to play.
> 
> EDIT: For anyone who likes a soundtrack, I am that nerd and made a short Spotify playlist for this series using songs from Sleeping At Last's Space album, **[which you can find here](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/4To77k4xqBqQnDqOZcGs6T?si=1kVkBfgtTiC37TYTmC5LKQ)**. The song for this story is, fittingly, "Sun."

_“Mama, when will the baby come?” Hera skipped along beside her mother, clutching the basket in her arms tighter to her chest as they wound their way through yet another narrow passage. She must not drop the bread. Smaller boys and girls than she needed that food to eat._

_“Babies come when they come, my heart. It will happen soon enough. Why?”_

_Hera threw a glance at Mama’s middle. “Your belly is getting awfully big. What if the baby does not fit to come out? Your belly button is very small.”_

_Hera’s mother laughed. “No, Hera. That is nothing to worry about. Babies do not come out that way.”_

_“Then how? How do they come out?” Hera pressed, her eyebrows knit together in confusion._

_Her mother stopped and turned towards her. “Do you remember Mama Sura?”_

_Hera nodded eagerly. A picture came to her mind of red hands encircling Mama’s belly, of twinkling eyes that crinkled at the corners when the older woman laughed. She came by every couple of weeks._

_“Mama Sura helps them to come out.”_

_“Can I see?”_

_Mama gave her a thoughtful look for a minute before speaking again. “You are seven summers old now. Having a baby is no game. Will you be a helper? Can you be brave?”_

_Brave? A flash of childish indignation flared in Hera’s chest. Why would Mama even ask? She knew she was brave all the time, even when it was just a game. Her cousin Tikvah always complained that she ran too fast, climbed too high on the rocks. But how else was she supposed to pretend to touch the stars?_

_Of course she could be brave._

_“I am always a brave helper,” she replied with certainty._

_“Then when it is time for the baby to come, you can be there, and you will see.”_

_Joy and pride bubbled up in Hera’s heart at her mother’s answer. “Promise?”_

_Mama smiled. “I promise.”_

* * *

“General Syndulla, please come to the briefing room. General Syndulla, please come to the briefing room.”

 _Well, that can’t be good_ , Hera thought, hearing the overhead page. _The meeting shouldn’t even be over yet, and they’re already briefing for a mission?_ With a sigh, she set the datapad of simulator scores she’d been poring over on top of the nearest stack to rub at her temples, letting her tired eyes drop closed for a few moments. 

When Hera blinked them open again, her gaze settled on the carved stone wall in front of her and the two feline figures—one small and spotted, one large and sleek—which chased each other in an endless circle amidst a mass of swirling vegetation.

_(“It seems appropriate, don’t you think?” Mon had said, when showing her the office for the first time. Hera had simply rolled her eyes, even though somewhere deep down she’d felt a fondness for the mother and cub.)_

Two weeks ago, the point a human child would have been due had come and gone. Two weeks ago, medical had insisted she go on maternity leave. But with the growing crisis the Rebellion faced, she hadn’t been able to tear herself away—not while she still had any ability to help. 

Resuming light duty work had been her compromise. 

And for the most part, Hera had been a model patient—sticking to her paperwork and organization, delegating tasks and leadership of training maneuvers out to pilots she knew had the skill and experience, even forgoing the stressful Command meetings, at medical’s insistence, and reading the daily briefings instead. But for all that she’d tried to keep her nose out of Draven’s recent mess, the fires kept coming back to find her day in and day out. 

_No rest for the weary._

“Come on, baby. We go where we’re called.” 

With a groan, she rose from her chair and stretched her back as best as she could, trying to ease the ache that had been coming and going throughout the afternoon, to no avail. 

One turn after another, Hera wove her way through the maze of corridors that made up the offices of various Command members. The quiet hallways gave way to the busy ebb and flow of beings cascading on toward their tasks, their missions. The past couple of months had seen a surge in new recruits, a disproportionate number of humans among them. But with quick, often confused glances between her belly and her rank plaque, the press of bodies parted like water around a rock—even in the tightest spaces—beings of indeterminate ranks all shifting wordlessly to avoid the heavily-pregnant Twi’lek General on a mission, curious stares following in her wake.

She’d nearly reached the far corner of the central hangar when her back began to ache again and her fatigue grew heavy, like a weighted blanket suddenly draped on her shoulders. Hera forced herself to stop and catch her breath. “You’re exhausting. You know that?” she muttered, one hand on her belly.

_Couldn't they have just commed for her input instead of calling her all they way over here?_

Suddenly, the feeling that she was being watched pricked Hera’s senses. She nearly laughed it off and continued on her way. _She was always watched. Whose eyes_ didn’t _follow her when she lumbered by?_ But this felt different—more than the usual curiosity or outright shock at her current state of being.

Casually, she glanced around, trying to find the source of the feeling. Pilots, mechanics, dozens of others milled about, attending their duties. Most of them she knew by name or face. None even seemed to register her presence.

 _Don’t be ridiculous_ , she chided herself, preparing to resume her trek when her eyes lighted on a man a couple dozen meters away, standing near a large group that appeared to be in the middle of departing—a man who looked utterly out of place in a hangar full of pilots and spies, technicians and spacers. His robes of black and red were layered over his body in an archaic fashion she hadn’t seen in years. _Like a monk_ , her brain supplied. _Like a Jedi,_ her heart added.

 _But he wasn’t that. He couldn’t be,_ she thought, as she took in the staff in his hand, the equipment and weapons slung about his torso. _No lightsaber._

The slightest flash of disappointment shot through her, at least until she looked closer at his face and her breath froze in her lungs. 

She’d only ever seen that milky white gaze in the face of one other. Now it was locked on her, seeing her, seeing through her. As the seconds passed, a wide, almost giddy smile bloomed on his face. A sudden, sharp kick struck against Hera’s palm, the baby awakened and dancing in her belly, as if in response to the stranger’s joy. 

Hera bit her lip, her emotions suddenly a swirling mass within her chest. Should she speak to the man? Had he sensed something of the Force in her child? There _was_ something undeniably magnetic—a pull—that made her want to draw closer to him. But the urge to flee was just as strong—a primal need to escape a sight that reminded her of the waking nightmares she’d relived day in and day out for months on end. Every nerve bristled; her heart pounded.

Staff in hand, grazing the ground in front of him, the man stepped closer, and Hera’s heart beat even faster in response. _What would he say to her? Out here in the open? For that matter, what would she say to him?_

But before the man could take even half a dozen steps, a burly man with a heavy repeater cannon slung across his back approached and laid a hand on his shoulder. The monk turned to speak with him and began following him away, as if her presence were entirely forgotten. 

An acute sense of disappointment struck her. 

Then for one brief moment, the man turned back. “The future of the Force burns bright!” he called across the hangar to no one in particular. 

But she knew he really had called to _her_.

Then he was gone, disappearing like a leaf in the wind. As if he had never even existed.

 _Had it all really just been her imagination?_ Hera couldn’t say. 

Somehow, she wasn’t sure exactly, she finally made it to the briefing room. Hera paused at the door, releasing a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding. The chills running up and down her spine would not abate so quickly, but she shook them off as best as she could. She’d reflect on the event later, perhaps find the man elsewhere and speak to him some other time, but now had enough trouble of its own. 

She pressed the entry button.

The sight that greeted her when the door opened was nothing like the one she’d expected.

Under dim lights, only a half dozen or so members of High Command huddled around a table—a far cry from the large gathering preparing for a full scale assault she’d expected after the recent extraction operations. And when they heard her entrance, almost every one of them glanced over at her with a guilty expression on their face, like schoolchildren caught sneaking sweets before dinner.

Hera crossed her arms across her belly. “All right, what’s going on?”

“Syndulla! We need your input,” Admiral Raddus waved a hand her direction, gesturing for her to come closer without even looking up. His grim face a few shades darker than usual, he continued to study the datapad in front of him, his mouth set like stone. 

From somewhere, a chair appeared, and Hera took it gratefully. From somewhere else, another datapad was placed in her hands. She began to study it, listening with growing horror as Colonel Zavor narrated the charts, firsthand accounts, and reports while she read. 

The blood drained from her face as images of unimaginable destruction sliced from satellites above Jedha played across the screen.

The phantasm behind all Saw’s madness—all the years he’d spent chasing the invisible demons that taunted his mind, sanity strung by a thread—it was real. And worse yet, it was _functional._

And it would come for them. Maybe not today, or tomorrow. But the Empire would find them eventually. And it would come.

“What are we going to do?” she whispered.

“According to testimony from members of Andor’s team, the plans for the station are being held in the Imperial Archives on Scarif.” Zavor fidgeted a little, tapping his fingers on the table. “The Council was divided on the best course of action, but we have to prepare to retrieve the plans, regardless.”

“That isn’t going to go over well,” Hera stated the obvious. “Is Senator Mothma aware of this meeting?” 

“No.” 

Hera sighed and looked at each of them in turn. “And you need me because . . .”

“You know our pilots better than anyone. You know who we can trust to bring on board with preparation. We need pilots who can work swiftly and quietly, gathering teams of others they trust to fuel and prepare their ships for long range assault, ready to go on a moment’s notice, without drawing attention.”

“It is going to come down to a fight,” Raddus added, his gruff voice filled with fervor. “We fight now and have a chance. Or we delay and fight later, when it may be too late.”

Silently, Hera thought the same, and her stomach twisted into a knot with the acknowledgment. Still, she glanced at the personnel around her, noting the prominent absences in the room. “And you called me instead of Merrick or Cor because . . .”

A couple of people shifted uncomfortably. After a few seconds, Zavor replied, “General Merrick was not yet willing to hedge a full scale assault based on the evidence at hand.”

Hera sighed. Of course they would come to her. She’d somehow made a career out of successes based on hefty doses of gut instinct and sheer determination. 

“Right.” She scrolled through the images again—simulated renderings of the suspected superweapon alongside reports of death and mass destruction. The information was rather scanty on solid detail—she could understand General Merrick’s hesitation to risk the lives of their squadrons. All they had, really, was the hope that Scarif held the information they needed. But when did they ever have all the pieces to the puzzle? This was how the Rebellion operated so much of the time, just on a bigger, even more deadly scale.

And she could practically feel the time slipping away from them, like sand sifting through her fingers. 

_Hope was going to have to be enough._

She gave a terse nod. “Commander Dreis is as solid as they come, and can work with the discretion you need. Lieutenant Antilles has promising leadership skills as well and excellent connections among the younger pilots. Mart Mattin has become a steady hand and was instrumental in the liberation of Lothal. Darklighter and Bey are relatively new but both brilliant pilots and motivated to fight. They’d be good in a pinch . . .” On and on she continued, rattling off the names of everyone who came to mind that she would trust with the knowledge of what was to come, while simultaneously typing their names and callsigns into the datapad.

She desperately hoped she wasn’t signing their death warrants.

“Thank you, General Syndulla. Your input is much appreciated.” Raddus took the datapad from her hands and scrutinized the information. “This is a decisive moment for our Alliance. The next few days may well determine the fate of–”

A knock at the door interrupted the Admiral’s speech, and everyone in the room fell silent. 

“Come in,” he called.

The hatch opened to reveal a young human woman, a mechanic of some kind, judging by the gray coveralls she wore and her face and hands smeared with engine grease. 

“Enter, sergeant. What news do you have?”

The woman drew closer and saluted, her expression almost timid as she looked from person to person in the group. Informal as the Alliance had always been, Hera imagined that she hadn’t spent much time around members of High Command before.

“Sir, I observed Captain Andor and his group over the past few hours as directed. I am here to report that he just departed in the commandeered Imperial freighter, along with Erso, the other men who arrived with them, and at least a score of other alliance personnel. From what I heard from the ground crew, I believe they left without receiving clearance.”

“And you can confirm that they were the ones who left and not someone else?”

“Yes, sir. About an hour before boarding the ship, they gathered on the south side of the main hangar. I observed them from a distance while continuing my work and was not able to make out what was being said. But it appeared that Andor had gathered a team together, and many of them went to the freighter directly after that.”

Uncomfortable glances passed between the room’s occupants.

Raddus stroked his chin for a moment. “Thank you, Sergeant Maasa. You are free to go.” 

The door shut behind her, and nearly everyone in the group began talking at once.

“This is exactly what I anticipated!”

“How can we be ready to fight in time?”

“A week wouldn’t be long enough to prepare, let alone the few hours we’ve got!”

For her part, Hera remained silent. Her mind ran through the details over and over, back and forth—like a broken oscillator. What covert routes the team would likely take. How many hours this would give them to prepare for a coordinated strike. What arguments, if any, could convince the leadership to change course and provide assistance sooner . . . 

But most of all, where did she—where did _they_ belong in all this?

She closed her eyes and brushed her fingertips across her belly. _What are we going to do?_ she pondered. All the sounds and words around her grew distant and faded away, just for a moment. Then, without conscious thought, her decision came to her, the answer settling itself somewhere deep in her gut. She stood up, chin held high, and pushed away her chair. 

“Where are you going?” Colonel Zavor asked. “Are you all right?”

“You have the information you needed from me; now I have a ship to prepare,” Hera replied simply.

“I thought you were on leave. You can’t fight!” another chimed in.

“What about the baby?” protested a third.

Hera had hoped never to have to encounter this scenario, but here it was anyways. She inhaled deeply, then spoke, her voice firm and clear, “If not now, when? This is the Rebellion. We may have grown in number, but we are still small against the Empire. I may not lead a squadron anymore, but if we want to win this battle, we are going to need every pilot and every ship we can get, and the _Ghost_ is as good as any.”

She paused for a second before continuing on. 

“Several years ago K–” _Kanan and I_ , she stopped herself from saying, “–our crew took in and raised a boy whose parents had sacrificed everything to try to ensure their son could grow up in a free galaxy.” Hera’s heart ached at the thought of Ezra, his eager young face flitting before her eyes. She swallowed hard. “What kind of mother would I be if I were not willing to do the same?” 

“But you could go into labor at any time.” Zavor protested. “It isn’t safe!”

“I know.” Hera’s voice grew quieter and her gaze more pointed. “But if this weapon is even half the things our intelligence says it is, where in the galaxy will be? If the Empire is allowed to continue their terror with this at their disposal, where can I hide my child that they won’t find and eliminate them?” She shot a glare at Raddus, the only one in the room she knew for certain to have the clearance and longevity with the Rebellion to entirely comprehend the heavy weight behind those words, the weight of a thousand frightening things—both known and unknown—that she carried on her shoulders day after day after day.

A tense twitch in his cheek told her he had.

“It may not be safe, and it’s probably not wise, but it is right,” she finally added with conviction. 

The room fell silent. A drop of a single bolt would have echoed like a thunderclap in the quiet.

Raddus gave a terse nod. “Prepare your ship. We will contact the pilots and begin fueling preparations on the available starfighters.”

“I will, Admiral. And thank you.”

A sense of relief and exhilaration flooded through her, and Hera hardly noticed the ache in her back as she strode from the room. 

She had a purpose and a direction. _She was going to fly again!_

But first she had a stop to make at central supply. 

She was going to need a flight suit that fit.

* * *

_“Hera, come down! I don’t want to go any more!”_

_Hera rolled her eyes and looked down at her cousin. Even in the gloom of the cave, she could see her clinging white-knuckled to a ledge, her eyes wide with fear. “Come on, Tikvah! Just a little higher. I can see light!”_

_“But we’re not supposed to go outside!”_

_“We're not going to go outside—just to have a look,” Hera replied, feeling her way along the rocks for handholds to pull herself higher. Some yards ahead a tantalizing glimmer of reflected light urged her forward._ It’s not like they were going to break any rules _, she told herself._

_“Hera . . . I can’t. It’s too high!” Tikvah wailed._

_“Fine. Go back home if you want to. I need to see what’s up there,” she huffed._

_“I’m going to tell Auntie Manar!”_

_Hera ignored the threat and continued upwards, relieved when she could hear the sound of her cousin’s retreat. A momentary pang of guilt flashed through her and she looked down, watching to make sure her cousin made it back down safely. Even if Tikvah didn’t want to come with her, she must not get hurt. When she disappeared from view, back into the familiar warren, Hera smiled._

_Smiled and turned her gaze upward._

_It only took a couple minutes of scrambling up the unexplored shaft to reach her goal._

_“Wow,” she said, pulling herself to sit on a ledge. A small hole, only just bigger than her own face, was positioned at the perfect height so she could see outside, the view stretching miles and miles down into the valley of the Tann province. The sun hung low on the horizon, bathing her skin in its warm, orange glow, and a soft breeze brushed across her face._

_After weeks spent hidden in the cool darkness of the caves, it felt like heaven._

_And it was hers alone._

* * *

Hera’s heart soared as the _Ghost_ dove beneath a Star Destroyer. The yoke responded to every tiny flick of her fingers, sending the ship dancing through vacuum like a jart on the hunt. For months she’d longed to fly again, and only the direness of the situation kept her mind grounded as she pursued ship after Imperial ship.

“Specter Four, I’m lining up another one for you. Point-three-five.” 

“Copy that, Specter Two. How many of these things have they got out here?” Zeb grumbled back.

“It’s almost as if we’re fighting a full scale battle,” Kallus chimed in, drily.

“Oh, you don’t say?”

“Cool it, you two, we’ve got flying to do,” Hera chided. Now was not the time for the pair to banter. She had neither the patience nor the energy for it. “Now are you going to get that TIE or not?”

“I’m trying,” Zeb groused. Less than five seconds later the TIE exploded in front of them, pieces of metal and fuel flaring into space. Hera let out a sigh of relief, redirecting the ship to continue her sweep around the fore of the rebel frigate. 

_Defend the fleet. At all costs, defend the fleet,_ she repeated to herself.

The relief was short lived. 

“We’ve got two more on our tail, coming in hot,” Rex’s voice called over the internal comm.

A burst of rapid fire shot from the dorsal cannon, but it didn’t even come close to touching the two starfighters on their tail.

“I see them,” Hera groaned. Today of all days, she would have given anything to have the _Phantom II_ and its rear guns along. But it was far away on Lothal, and there was no helping that now. “Chop, divert more power to the rear thrusters; we’ve got to lose those TIES. Kallus, these ones are all yours.” 

“Copy, General,” he said, his voice unwaveringly crisp.

Hera swerved to avoid a sudden barrage of green laser fire from the newcomers. A sense of dread tightened her stomach into knots as she continued to map their best route of escape. But it quickly morphed into something more, wrapping around her middle and squeezing her from the inside out. She huffed in frustration. Sometime in the last few hours, she couldn’t really put her finger on when, the occasional backache had morphed into full-blown cramps—nothing she couldn’t handle—but irritating nonetheless. It was another nuisance she had neither the time nor energy to deal with. 

_Just a few more hours, kid. Now is_ not _the time._

Two shots suddenly hit home, slamming into the _Ghost’s_ shields and rocking it unexpectedly. The safety harness pulled tight against her already tender belly, and Hera winced, her hands losing their grip for a mere second, but still causing the ship to swerve minutely.

“ _Wah, wah, wup, way?”_ Chopper called from somewhere behind her, rolling about the cockpit from one set of gauges to another in a frenzy of motion. 

“I’m fine,” Hera gritted out, eager to get the droid to leave her alone, “and get those shields back to full power.”

 _“Wah-wap-wap-woo-doo,”_ the droid groused.

“Language, Chop. Don’t think I didn’t hear that.”

Not that the droid was wrong. Fatigue and pain were taking their toll of her skills, and she wasn’t sure how much longer she’d last if this kept up. The cramping eased, leaving her in blissful peace again, and her mind cleared. Quickly, she scanned the skies, grateful when she spied the opening she needed. 

“Gold Squadron, this is Specter Leader, I’m bringing you some birds.” She soared around the rear of a trio of Y-wings, and smiled when one of the two TIEs was foolish enough to take the bait, eager to pursue the more destructive bombers instead, allowing her to swing around behind and eliminate it before it could fire more than a couple shots. “One down.” She smirked.

The second TIE struggled to keep up with the move, and her patience was rewarded when one of the Y-wings managed to hit its foils in return, sending it spinning into a third TIE unwise enough to try to join in the pursuit.

Hera released a breath she’d been holding. “Thanks for the hand, Gold Squadron.”

“Anytime, Specter Leader,” Gold Leader replied. 

Quickly, Hera swung the ship out of their path, sweeping around to get a better view of the battle as a whole before finding her next target. The sight wasn’t encouraging. TIE fighters swarmed nearly every Alliance ship like wasps on a hot day.

“That was some flying, General.” Rex’s voice echoed from behind her, as the clone entered the cockpit again to resume his position in the copilot’s seat.

“Hmm,” Hera hummed noncommittally. “Get the hyperdrive motivator back in order?”

“She’ll hold until we get back to base.”

“Good. That’s good.” Hera allowed herself a quick moment of relief. Getting stuck without a functional hyperdrive in this nightmare any longer than they had to was not on her list of things she wanted to do today. It had already gone on longer than she would have wished.

Another cramp came on as they pursued another trio of TIEs. Hera fought with everything in her to keep her face neutral and breathing steady, lest Rex or Chopper see and worry. 

_Just keep flying and fighting . . .  
_

Another as a hammerhead corvette rammed a disabled Star Destroyer into a second, sending them both diving downward toward the shield gate. Her heart soared at the thought that it just might help secure their victory.

_So close . . ._

And then another–

“Agh!” Hera cried out as a sudden rush of fluid flooded out between her legs, accompanying the vice-like grip that squeezed her insides. The yoke jerked in her hands, and she trembled at a sudden, sharp increase in pain.

“What is it?” Rex asked, trying to bend towards her to see what was the matter.

“Nothing, it’s nothing,” Hera ground out. Two more TIEs. She had to outfly two more TIEs. “Keep an eye out for proton torpedoes aimed at the frigates. We have to catch them.”

“Yes, sir.” Rex obeyed, but kept casting concerned glances her way, which did nothing to aid her already erratic flying. 

“Got ‘em, Hera!” Zeb said, the second TIE exploding just to their port side.

Then suddenly, a blissfully welcome fleet-wide call came through. Raddus’s voice echoed over the comm, “All ships, prepare for jump to hyperspace.”

Hera spared a glance at Raddus’s frigate to her starboard side. It was an alarming sight—shields down, engines disabled. Any brief joy she’d had evaporated. Even if they’d obtained the plans, how would they ever make it out? “Admiral, how long do you need? We can cover you!”

“There’s nothing you can do here. What are you waiting for, Syndulla? Jump now!” 

For few brief moments Hera was torn, the sight of the ship floating dead in space making her heart ache. _Could they manage to evacuate some of the crew?_ Then an enormous Star Destroyer abruptly emerged from hyperspace, and Hera’s gut filled with a sudden, overwhelming sense of dread.

She didn’t need to be told twice. 

“Chopper, calculate the jump to hyperspace. Now!”

The seconds ticked torturously by. She couldn’t explain it, but everything in her screamed to leave, to run, to put as much distance between herself and that Star Destroyer as possible. Four new TIEs headed straight for the _Ghost’s_ nose, and Hera swerved to avoid their lines of fire, narrowly missing a large chunk of falling debris. She tipped the ship sideways to slip between their formation, clipping at least one in the process. 

_Fly, fly, fly!_

Every second felt like a millennia. They’d never escape being caught in the planet’s gravity well fast enough. 

“Chopper . . .” she warned, the cold dread spreading throughout her limbs.

The droid whooped. Hera pulled the lever. Her breath forcefully expelled from her lungs as the stars stretched into starlines, then vanished into the blue swirl of hyperspace.

And for a few blissful seconds she let her head fall back against the headrest, cradling her belly and reveling in a sense of relief so powerful she could have wept.

Maybe a tear or two did slip down her cheeks.

But her relief was short-lived. Mere seconds later, another cramp overtook her, this one easily twice as strong as the last, and another rush of fluid accompanied it. Hera closed her eyes and tried to focus on . . . something else, but it had caught her unprepared, and she didn’t know what to do besides grip her belly tight. Her breath came in short pants, and a soft moan escaped her throat.

“General, are you all right? Hera?” Rex said from somewhere beside her, his voice sounding oddly distant for how close he must have been. “Kallus, Orrelios, get in here now!”

The pain abated, and Hera let herself relax into her renewed freedom. “I’m fine, Rex. I just need—”

“Hera?” Zeb clambered up the ladder from the nose gun, Kallus dashing in quickly at his heels. 

“What is it? Is she injured?” Kallus asked, breathless, his boots clattering against the grating.

“Oh, karabast, please tell me that isn’t what I think it is.”

Hera blinked her eyes open and looked down—really looked—at her lap, and understood Zeb’s shock and dismay. The fabric between her legs was soaked through, the formerly bright orange fabric now a dull, rust color. “It is,” she said tiredly. “Chopper, take the helm. Set us on course immediately for Yavin IV, minimum three jumps. I’ve got to change.”

She stood up and glanced at the others, all three staring at her with mouths agape and eyes wide, betraying varying levels of worry. 

“Of course it would happen now, of all times,” Zeb complained. “You just had to go and have the baby when we’re all the way across the galaxy.”

“It’s not like I planned it this way,” Hera grumbled back. More wetness trickled down her legs and she squirmed. “Besides, first babies take a long time to come out. We won’t be halfway across the galaxy for long,” she said, trying to sound confident. The couple of holobooks she had skimmed in her spare time had told her to expect hours and hours of labor.

“Anything’s too long if you ask me.”

“It’ll be . . . fine,” Hera gritted out, the ship around her fading from focus as she found herself battling another pain. _So soon?_

“Chopper, how many hours until we reach Base One?” Rex asked.

The droid warbled a reply.

“Nine hours on the present course,” Hera muttered in translation, stepping towards the exit.

“Begging your pardon, General.” Rex stopped her progress with a hand on her shoulder. “But I don’t think you’ve got nine hours. We can’t risk it. We aren’t prepared.”

Zeb waved his arms in frustration. “Come on, Hera. We can just go back the way we came. We’ll be there in no time.” 

“If there were ever a time to break Rebellion protocol, it is this,” Kallus added.

Hera crossed her arms over her chest and planted her feet. “No, I will not have the entire Rebellion put at risk for my sake just because this baby has a terrible sense of timing.”

“Then we’ll go to Lothal instead,” Zeb shot back. “Ryder and Sabine will have people. They’ll know what to do, and it’s our safest option. They gotta know a doctor or two there who can help you out. Chopper, calculate the route.”

 _Sabine._ Hera dearly wished getting to Sabine were a possibility. She felt the need to have her steady presence nearby acutely. A brief bit of hope flickered in Hera’s chest, before her brain could start doing the math, but Kallus beat her to it.

He shook his head. “Lothal is far from the main trade routes. We couldn’t get there from here in less than thirteen hours, even taking the most direct route.” 

Hera groaned. The man was right, but practical to a fault. 

_What was she supposed to do?_ They didn’t have anything on board she’d need for such an occasion. Hell, she didn’t know what they would need in the first place. 

Another cramp came—forget it, she knew these must be real contractions by now—and all logical thought ceased for half a minute or so.

When she opened her eyes again, Rex stood next to her, a speculative look on his face. “Chopper, bring up the map of the southeast quadrant.”

The droid grumbled but left the control panel to come closer anyways, projecting a holomap of the southeast portion of the galaxy between them.

“Zoom in on where we’re at. Abrion Sector.”

Hera didn’t dare ask what he was thinking, merely watching as the man stroked his beard in thought while contemplating the images before them. 

“I think I have a solution, General, but I’m not sure you’re gonna like it.” He gave Hera a pointed glance, then looked back at the map. Hera followed his gaze farther into the Outer Rim. Her heart sunk as she connected the dots. 

_No, please, not there._

_But where else could they go?_ She sighed, and Rex continued on. 

“Ryloth.” He pointed to the small orange planet only a couple of short jumps away. “If we drop out of hyperspace now and reverse course toward Tatooine, we can get there in a couple hours, maybe less if we’re lucky.”

No one else said a word, and Hera felt the weight of three pairs of eyes and one set of photoreceptors on her. Another contraction came, somehow even more painful than the last. ( _How much worse could they get?_ ) 

“Ryloth is still under Imperial occupation. It’s unlikely we’d be able to get in and safely out again.” Hera protested weakly as it ended, but her argument felt pretty worthless right about now.

“Protocol dictates that ships blockading nearby systems may be rerouted to reinforce active attacks. It is likely that the Empire pulled ships away from Ryloth to reinforce Scarif,” Kallus countered.

“So we can catch the Empire with their pants down. And even if we can’t get to them, they may be able to get to us,” Rex said confidently.

Hera didn’t need to ask who ‘they’ were.

Chopper warbled again; this time his tone was unusually gentle and encouraging. 

_If anyone can get through and bring you help, it’s your father,_ her mind repeated the droid’s words.

Hera sighed. Chopper was right. Rex was right. No matter how little she wanted to admit it. But that still didn’t change anything regarding where that connection—that relationship—currently stood. 

But this was how it would have to be.

“I’ll talk to him.” Hera finally said. She could practically feel the relief emanating from everyone around her. Without looking anyone in the eye, she turned around and dropped back into the pilot’s chair. “Chop, calculate the route. Prepare to jump again immediately.”

With the pull of a single lever, she felt the fate of the galaxy shift around her. 

“Exiting hyperspace.”

* * *

_A moan carrying down the passageway caught Hera’s hearing as she skipped the last few paces back to her family’s cave._

_“Mama?” she asked, rounding the last corner._

_Her mother did not answer, and Hera quickly entered the cavern, finding Mama in the sleeping room bent over the big bed, the knuckles on her right hand nearly white from gripping the wooden corner post. Her eyes were tightly shut. She moaned again._

_“Mama? Are you okay?” Worry filled Hera’s voice._ What was wrong with Mama? _“Are you hurt?”_

_A few seconds more passed and her mother let out a deep breath, then finally turned to look at her, a small, reassuring smile on her face. “I think the baby’s coming, Hera. It’s time for you to be brave.” Mama took Hera’s hands, and Hera was startled to find her mother’s trembling. “I need you to run as fast as you can. First to Mama Sura, then to Auntie Brema. Tell them I need them. Bring them here now.”_

_“Yes, Mama. But what about Papa?” Hera looked at the emergency comlink laying discarded on the bedside table._

_“No, my heart, the time is not right. Your father cannot come now. He is fighting for us all.”_

_“But he should be here!” A flash of anger shot through Hera’s chest, perhaps too, a flash of fear._

_“We will manage, Hera. Now go!”_

_For a single moment Hera hesitated. She wanted to argue, but then Mama bent over again. Pain etched itself into her face, and she cried out._

_The midwife and Auntie Brema—that was Hera’s job. She must do it. Mama was counting on her. With one last glance, Hera scrambled back into the passageway, the sound of her mother’s moans echoing in her ears._

* * *

Hera slammed her hand against the button to close her cabin door, eager to shut out the concerned faces of her crew. She had no doubt they would follow her in if she let them. But this was a conversation she needed to have alone.

She’d never told him. 

She should have told him. 

In hindsight, the foolishness of not telling her father was monumental, a testament to her own stupidity. But the conversation regarding Kanan’s death, which existed in her mind as a patchwork of muddy memories, had already been hard enough. Her father had wanted to help her, to advise her, the only way he knew how, and she’d been in no position to receive it (not that his advice had been useful, anyway). In the end, pushing him away again had been her way of dealing with the entire situation. It was a poor choice. 

And she’d made it over and over again. A couple of written messages, mostly regarding the Rebellion, were all that had passed between them in the intervening months.

For all the strides they’d made before, it seemed that walls built by years of distance could be resurrected in a moment.

Hera took a step forward and another gush rushed out and down her legs to pool in her socks, warm and wet. She sucked in a breath and grimaced. Looking down, she found the liquid had soaked farther down her flight suit, the orange fabric, baggy everywhere but her belly, was now stained dark nearly to her boots. 

“So much for water resistance,” she muttered. She was overcome by a sudden, intense need to get everything off. The wetness was too much. She’d never been particularly good at dealing with body fluids, and the sheer volume made her stomach turn. 

Finding something to wear was easier said than done. First, another contraction forced her to stop and breathe. Then, she found herself digging through her cabinets, unable to find something that looked practical for anything other than flying or undercover missions. She had never been one for loose gowns, and pajamas weren’t going to work. Finally, at the back of a cabinet, she found what she was looking for—a simple brown shift, made out of a fine, soft material and embroidered with geometric patterns. She had bought it on a whim to wear at night on an early trip with Kanan. At the time it had reminded her of home.

Home. Ryloth. That hadn’t been home in so long.

It still reminded her of home. 

Home. Kanan.

Her heart clenched and tears threatened to work their way to the surface. Damn these hormones. She had to hold it together long enough to talk to her father. 

Her father. If he saw her in such unusual attire he would know something was wrong right away, and he would be furious until he found out what was going on. Her current attire—a bulky uniform not her own—was already bad enough. Best get the call over and done. With a sigh, Hera tossed the gown on her bunk and turned to her work table, trying her best to ignore the wetness as it continued to trickle down her legs.

She’d hardly made it to the table before another contraction gripped her, this one stronger than any she’d had before. The pain started low in her abdomen, quickly wrapped its way around her back, and radiated down her thighs. She gripped the edges of the table, her knuckles going white, and tried to remember how to move air in and out of her lungs. _Oh kriff, what should she do? What would her mother have done?_

Hera tried to turn her focus away from the pain, unsuccessfully at first—it was simply too strong to overcome in the middle. But as it eased, she found she was able to distract herself. A memory slipped into her mind—one of her and Kanan sitting on her bunk watching a holovid. She wore the brown shift and sat between his legs. One of his hands rested on her bare thigh. 

She let herself bathe in the memory and slowed her breathing. As the contraction eased, she tore herself back out of the past, aching to have to let it go. With one last deep breath, she lifted her head and grabbed the holoprojector, setting it to capture only her head and shoulders, then made the call as quickly as she could.

With each second that passed, her fear grew that by the time her father answered, she might be in the middle of another round of pain, or worse—that he might not answer at all. What would they do then? She closed her eyes and prayed that wouldn’t be the case. Out of habit, her hand drifted towards the necklace tucked away against her chest.

“Hera.” 

Her eyes shot open at the sound of her father’s voice. 

“I was not expecting your call. What is going on? I heard rumors from my contact on Rishi of a battle at Scarif, and all Imperial ships have left our sector. Are you all right? Are you injured? You look unwell.”

Of course he would see something was wrong. She’d done little to hide it. Hera lifted her chin, the impulse to appear strong again too hard to overcome, but she couldn’t meet his eyes. “Hello, Father. Yes, there was a battle. We have just left the Scarif system. I am not injured, but I need your help.”

A note of detached coolness returned to his voice. “What do you need? The Imperials are sure to return. I cannot hide the Rebellion here.”

“No, that’s not it.” 

She didn’t want to tell him. Not this way. Not now. Everything in her screamed to end the transmission and find another way to deal with the situation, however impossible that may be. Even throwing her convictions out the airlock and flying directly back to Yavin IV suddenly sounded like a reasonable option. But her father deserved to know about the baby regardless, and she had to get it out fast before another contraction came and messed up everything.

She had to just lay it all on the table. 

Finally, Hera lifted her eyes to meet his. “Father, I need Mama Sura.”

“Mama Sura?” He tilted his head and blinked, confusion written all over his face. 

“Yes.” Hera’s gaze fell. “I need Mama Sura . . . or another midwife. And quickly.”

For an agonizing few seconds, her father stared at her blankly, trying to make sense of what she was saying. She could practically see his mind spinning, the calculations written across his face. Then understanding dawned, and in an instant his expression changed to one of horror. “Hera, you’re–? Why didn’t you tell me?”

Hera’s heart twisted in her chest; she closed her eyes and a tear slipped out. “I’m sorry, Father. I should have told you when we last spoke, but everything hurt so much, and it was so soon. I—” Her words died in her throat as another contraction overtook her, this one another order of magnitude stronger than the last. Her father looked away, comprehending fully at last.

She tried her best to keep her breathing steady, conjuring a picture of herself walking, coughing and sniffling, into the galley one afternoon to the aroma of keedee and noodle soup, a bowl of fresh cut meiloorun on the table—remembering the warmth as she wrapped her arms around Kanan’s waist, as he turned and placed a kiss on her forehead.

When she opened her eyes, her father spoke again, his voice urgent, “Where are you?”

“We’re in hyperspace heading towards Arkanis,” Hera said, still grimacing as the pain eased away.

“It is not safe to make the jump at Arkanis. There is a large blockade on the Correllian Run. At Tatooine jump directly towards Ryloth. That hyperlane is smaller, less traveled. I will meet you at Vor Deo,” he instructed.

“Yes, we can do that. Thank you, Father.”

“I will be there as fast as I can with help.” His gaze softened. “Anything for you, my daughter.”

Hera stared at her father, a multitude of jumbled emotions flitting across her face, chief among them relief. She gave her father a watery smile, and the transmission ended. For a few more seconds, she stood with her hands braced against the work table, mentally preparing for the next contraction, but none came yet. She lifted her comm, even though she knew the others were more than likely still waiting right outside the door. But for as little energy as she currently had, the door might as well have been parsecs away.

“Rex, Chopper, drop out of hyperspace at Tatooine and shift to jump to Vor Deo. We’ll meet my father there.”

“Yes, sir. Are you all right in there?” Rex called back. Chopper likewise chirped his concern.

“Yeah, I’ll be fine.” That was probably a lie, but she didn’t know what else to say. Another wave of pain hit swiftly, and Hera felt herself being dragged under its current again. She dropped her comm and whimpered as this one threatened to drown her. 

Fine was absolutely a lie. She had never been less fine. One hand gripped the table, and the other her belly, as if by squeezing it back, perhaps it might relent and relax its stranglehold over her being. 

As it eased off, she struggled to catch her breath and slow her rapid breathing. White spots glittered at the corners of her vision, and her lips and hands tingled. It took all her strength to shuffle to the bed, shedding her wet clothes along the way. She could barely bend to remove her boots, and her leggings under her flight suit were plastered to her skin and difficult to peel off, the warm liquid that saturated them dripping on her floor as she did. _Ugh, she was not looking forward to cleaning that up._

When she pulled the shift on, the gentle, loose fabric brought relief to her skin, but another trickle of fluid ran down her leg, and she cursed the naïveté that had allowed her to think that there was no need to prepare the _Ghost_ for such an occasion as this. She should have been back on Yavin IV. Should have been able to just walk to the medcenter, which had stocked everything required in anticipation of the birth.

But getting into this fight had been her choice. Hera had gone where she’d been needed. Now she would have to deal with the consequences. She dug around in her cabinets again and found an old towel to stuff between her legs, then climbed shakily up the ladder and curled on her side in her bunk to await their arrival. Even standing was starting to take too much energy. 

A gentle kick from within her belly brought her focus back to the whole reason behind this ordeal. And she moved her hands to cradle it, content when another kick met her palm.

“I’m glad you’re okay in there, little one.”

The baby kicked again, this time in protest. Hera felt her stomach tighten against her fingertips, and the pain followed right after. Blinding, overwhelming pain.

She closed her eyes and surrendered.

* * *

Fifteen minutes. She said she would be here in fifteen minutes _. Hera paced the confines of the cave, biting her lip in fear when another contraction made Mama double over in pain. She felt helpless, with nothing else she could do now but wait._

_“You’ll be okay, Mama,” she said, not really believing her own words._

_Mama said nothing in reply, tears slid down her cheeks._

_Suddenly, a rap sounded at the door, and Hera dashed to open it, relief flooding her heart at the sight of the midwife, a smile on her face, and her aunt, bundles filling both their arms._

_“Oh, Manar, it looks like this one is in a hurry, no?” Mama Sura asked, walking over to her mother’s side._

_Mama turned and gave her a weak smile. “I’ve heard that second babies often are.”_

_Within mere minutes, Hera watched the room transform before her eyes, blankets and towels and equipment neatly laid about. Auntie Brema held Mama up now, the midwife standing by their side, whispering soft words of encouragement every now and then._

_Mama looked calmer, more peaceful, but every time the pain came, Hera still wanted to look away. “How can you bear it, Mama?” she asked, when another contraction faded._

_Mama cast a glance at the women beside her before looking down at Hera. “I think about beautiful things instead—not the pain. I think about beginnings. I think about the ending. I think of holding my baby in my arms, just as I did with you.”_

_Hera couldn’t see how that helped._

* * *

A knock at the door, so soft she wasn’t sure if she’d imagined it, dragged Hera back out of the haze her mind had drifted into. Blearily, she blinked her eyes open and took stock of everything around her—of the quiet of the ship’s engines, no longer in hyperspace and running dampened, of the sound of several voices outside her door, whispering low. Releasing a breath, she took a moment to sip water from a bottle Chopper had brought in some time before.

The knock returned, this time louder. 

“Hera, they’re here for you,” Zeb’s voice called. 

“Come in,” she croaked, not trusting her own voice to sustain more than that.

The door opened with a rush and several people tumbled in all at once, led by a familiar, petite woman with skin of the richest red Hera had ever remembered seeing. Her face was deeply lined, and her lekku sagged a bit, but her eyes were still sharp, and Hera didn’t miss the way they scrutinized the scene, assessing the details surrounding her like a field commander preparing for battle.

 _“Do laboo dan ar fiyet ji tislera jirut_ , _”_ she ordered, pointing in Zeb’s direction. “ _Vil dan fiyet ji sislita jirut_.” She gestured behind her towards Kallus.

“We need you to get the mother down,” a soft voice echoed in heavily Ryl-accented Basic. From somewhere behind the others, another woman appeared. She looked young—certainly no older than Sabine; her lekku reached only a couple inches below her shoulders. Her skin was a similar red, although the color was perhaps a bit more rusty in tone than the elder’s. “And you must get the mattress off the bed. It can go here.” She gestured between Kallus and the center of the floor.

Zeb stepped towards her, his face apologetic. 

“I’m fine. I can do it.” Gingerly, Hera moved to sit up, pushing herself up with her arms, but her efforts were short lived, as another powerful wave of pain and nausea overtook her. Her perception dimmed as the sensation became stronger and stronger, amplifying impossibly more when Zeb’s large arms slid underneath her and lifted her off the bunk like a young child.

“Sorry, Hera. Doctor’s orders.”

Hera whimpered. Voices echoed in her ears, movement swirled around her, and the room spun, but she could make no sense of any of it. She clutched her belly, desperately wishing the pain away, as unbidden tears rolled down her cheeks. An eternity came and went before the pain finally began to dull and fade away. Hera blinked her eyes open as she felt her backside meet the mattress once more, Zeb’s arms gently lowering her to rest upon it as if she were made of spun glass that might crash and fracture with the merest brush.

The others all continued their dizzying movements around her, rearranging her quarters into a near-unrecognizable state, opening tightly wrapped bundles to unload blankets and towels and a multitude of tools she could not have identified had she tried.

In all the motion, Hera found her gaze drawn to the solitary point of stillness.

Her father. 

He stood in the doorway a little ways off, staring at her with his mouth agape, as if he wanted to speak but couldn’t find the words. On his face was plastered a look of helplessness she could never recall having seen before. His arms hung limp and frighteningly still at his sides.

Hera opened her mouth to speak, but no words came to her mind. Everything she could think of felt trite, inadequate—her mind far too addled with pain to come up with anything better.

So she stared back, wishing that her eyes might give her apologies for her. 

They’d have to talk later.

“ _Onhso, onhso_ ,” the older midwife chided, shooing Hera’s crew away with her hands. 

“We need you all to step out now that we may examine the mother,” the assistant said. 

Reluctantly, they disappeared one by one, Chopper protesting with a loud wail. 

“I’ll be fine, Chop,” Hera tried to reassure him, as Zeb bundled him out the door.

The door slid shut, and not a moment too soon. Another contraction overtook her, and the world around Hera went dark and distant. But this time, warm hands slid into hers, squeezing gently. She squeezed them back hard.

“Sorry,” she apologized when it was over, looking at the faces of the women in front of her, both smiling softly.

“It is all right.” The younger woman cast a hesitant glance at the other. “This is Sura, who I am told you know, and I am Láreh. She is the midwife, and I am her apprentice. We are here to care for you and baby.”

“ _Dan sohsa sarhoha kue dei tohso guo, huhsi toe a eoh ormudis, cei cea gan toyid onbinao dan_ ,” Mama Sura requested, the soft Ryl words washing over Hera like a cool breeze on a scorching summer day. It took a moment for her mind to kick in, for the words to gain meaning as she shifted her psyche to follow their rhythm. Finally, she gathered her energy to comply.

“We need you to lie on your back, for a little minute, so that we can examine you,” Láreh translated, at Hera’s hesitation.

“ _Ryl ohk ba'enik_.” _Ryl is fine,_ Hera replied, cringing at her rusty pronunciation. And it was. But somehow, after all these years, it still came back. How long had it been since she’d spoken it to another for more than a quick exchange? Some contact in the field here one minute and gone the next.

Too long.

“Good. All of us will be a perfect team,” Mama Sura replied, in the same language. “Now, let’s see what this baby is doing.” 

Carefully, Hera scooted down and eased back onto the mattress, relaxing her legs open as best as she could. 

“You are ready?” Láreh asked.

Hera nodded, wincing a little at the feel of the student’s probing fingers. A few moments passed and Hera looked down at the woman, her heart skipping a beat to see her brows knitted together and lips pursed in what might be either concern or confusion, the formerly placid expression on her face disappearing. 

“I . . . I think she’s seven centimeters dilated, but . . .” Láreh paused and felt even deeper, and Hera bit her lip at the continued discomfort. “. . . I’m not sure what I’m feeling,” she finished lamely as she withdrew.

 _Was something wrong? Something with the baby?_ Hera’s eyes flitted between the two, trying to read the situation, panic growing in her chest, but her efforts were quickly foiled, as another contraction took hold, the pain even worse than before as she writhed on her back.

“I am very sorry, but I will need to examine you too,” Mama Sura said as the pain eased away.

“Okay,” Hera agreed, still trying to catch her breath. She didn’t like the idea, but what choice did she have?

The midwife’s face appeared thoughtful at first, and then with a satisfied nod, she removed her fingers. 

“Yes, you are dilated to seven centimeters, _xaicey_. Only four more to go,” she said calmly. “Láreh, would you go warm some _lu’vora_ for us? She needs strength.” 

“Of course.” The apprentice rose and dug through the bundles at their feet, leaving the room quietly with a large jug in hand. 

In the following hush, Hera could hear her heartbeat pounding in her ears over the sound of the _Ghost’s_ air filters. “What’s wrong?” she whispered, feeling more out of her depth than she could have imagined possible.

“Láreh is still learning,” Mama Sura stated simply, a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth again. Her wrinkled hands prodded Hera’s belly with practiced care, and she put a small wooden instrument on her stomach and pressed an earcone to it. “The baby’s heartbeat is strong.” Then she asked question after question. “How long ago did your water break? When did the pains begin? Have you had problems with the pregnancy?” 

On and on the questions went. _This would be so much easier if I was back on Yavin IV,_ Hera thought, answering every one as best as she could.

Until the next one caught her off guard.

“Tell me about your husband?”

“My husband?” Hera looked sharply at the woman kneeling beside her, her face still a placid mask. Confusion filled Hera for a moment. _What had her father said? How much of her story had he told? What did he even know?_

Still calm, the midwife simply looked away, and Hera followed her gaze to the wall opposite her. 

_Oh._

_The kalikori._

In all the months that had passed, no one had commented on the totem and the pyramidal token attached to it. Certainly none had known to read the stories etched in the wooden pieces. But for all the intentional meaning—love, even—that she’d put into the addition, she’d never dared apply that term to Kanan in her mind. 

_Husband._

_Mother of balance, how he would have reveled in it, though._

Her vision grew watery and unbidden tears suddenly trickled down her cheeks. A warm hand slipped into her own. “He was . . .” What could she say? How could she sum Kanan up in just a few words? Words were so inadequate. 

Another wave of pain overtook her as she struggled to find the words. “Oh, kunta!” she swore as it climbed and climbed, her belly feeling as if it were being ripped open by a lylek’s claws. Her shoulders shook with tension, and she struggled to fill her lungs, the pain dragging her under. 

“Breathe, _xaicey_ , breathe. Slowly, like this.” The midwife demonstrated, and Hera tried her best to follow, with little success. 

“You must try to relax through the pains. Close your eyes, picture yourself somewhere else—a peaceful memory, a happy memory—those are the hopes that get us through. Put your mind there. Be in that place. You can do that, yes?”

With as intense as the pain had become, Hera didn’t know if she could anymore. But she was damned if she wouldn’t try. She had to.

_I think about beautiful things . . ._

She closed her eyes. 

_A dark night sky filled with twinkling stars. The rustle of the golden grass as she laid down in it. The soft breath of Kanan laying beside her, drinking in the peace of a rare moment away from the chaos. No kids, no responsibilities, just the two of them alone in the night._

_The gravity always drawing them together. His hand finding hers in the darkness, intertwining their fingers . . ._

The pain eased, and Hera’s eyes fluttered open again to find Mama Sura sitting patiently beside her.

“One more deep breath, then let it go.”

Hera did as she was instructed, then she began, “Kanan. His name was Kanan.” Another deep breath to clear her mind. “He was my best friend, my partner. He died saving me—saving us—before I even knew about the baby. That was months ago.” Hera paused, and her voice grew even softer. “He’d be so thrilled to be here right now. He always wanted a future, but our time ran out.”

“What species was he?” the midwife asked.

Species? Hera blinked away a couple stray tears, a little startled by the question, important as she should have known it was to the process. A flash of reflexive shame shot through her, and her cheeks grew warm, an old Twi’lek schoolyard taunt reverberating in her mind. 

_Nice girls don’t spread their legs for humans._

Almost as quickly, her own defiant nature hit back. “He was human,” she said, lifting her chin a little higher. 

“Ah, yes.” Mama Sura smiled, a satisfied expression on her face. “My student was confused by the feeling of hair on the baby’s head. The child has a good deal of it.”

“Hair,” Hera echoed. The baby had hair—the first solid inkling she’d gained of their appearance. The corners of her mouth turned up the faintest bit as she slotted that detail into her mental image, still so scant. But it wouldn’t be that long now, would it? 

A soft knock sounded at the door, and it slid open a moment later to reveal Láreh, a full, steaming mug in her hands. With caution, she set it on the worktable, bending down to pick up a vial and pour something into it before bringing it over. 

“What is that?” Hera asked.

“It’s rycrit broth with ryll,” Láreh said, holding up the mug so that Hera could drink.

“It will give you strength and help ease the pain,” Mama Sura added.

“Ryll?” Hera eyed the two of them dubiously. “Is that safe for the baby? Even though . . .”

“Yes, it is safe.” The midwife nodded assuredly. 

Hera nodded and accepted the drink, grateful for the warmth of it in her hands, radiating down to her toes, for how it allayed the queasiness in her stomach as she swallowed it, one small sip at a time, for the way she felt her limbs relax and her mind settle into a semblance of ease after a few minutes, despite the pains that kept coming and going, for the old, familiar flavor drawing to the forefront of her mind memories of running through caves with other children, of scampering past while Mama cooked dinner. 

Meanwhile, Mama Sura turned to her student. “The child is half-human,” she said, continuing on into a long, softly-spoken explanation of hybrid pregnancy and birth, portions of which Hera realized she couldn’t understand, the holes in her childhood language clearly visible. She knew next to nothing of medical terms. Still, their voices were reassuring, the melodic cadences relaxing her further.

Then another contraction came, this one so excruciating she nearly forgot to breathe. Two hands helped her to shift position to sit up on the mattress. Two others massaged her hips.

“Remember what I told you,” the midwife whispered. 

_Be in that place._ This time it was Kanan’s voice that echoed in her mind.

_Side by side, they sat in the common room. He cleaned his blaster, the parts strewn across the dejarik table, she studied her datapad, combing lists of shipments for Imperial movements, comfortable silence their only other companion._

_Their shoulders pressed together, and neither said a word._

After what felt like an eternity, the contraction ebbed away, but Hera hardly felt like she’d caught her breath before another one came.

 _Would this ever end? How many more? How many?_ Even through the haze of the ryll, her mind still spun. A desperate wave of longing for Kanan swept over her—for his arms around her, his voice whispering encouragement in her ears, his hands doing . . . something, anything with the Force that might help take this pain away.

“I don’t think I can do this,” she groaned, looking blearily at the two women before her.

Mama Sura smiled gently. “I know it is hard, but yes, my dear, you can. And you will.”

Láreh squeezed her hand. “We will do it together.”

* * *

_It was all too much. Mama’s cries chased after her as Hera flew down the tunnel. She ran on and on, heedless of everything except the need to escape._

_Hardly registering what she was doing, her arms and legs climbed, up, up, up, until a gust of a cool breeze brushed across the wetness on her face._

_Hera wiped away the tears, and finally took in her surroundings, the steep shaft she’d ascended, the rock ledge, the small window to the greater world looking into the moonlit valley. She expelled a deep breath and felt the world right itself around her._

_It stayed that way but a moment._

_An echoing boom rang in her ears, shattering the quiet of the night. A starfighter sped across her view, incessant red laser fire narrowly missing its wings._

A Y-wing! _Hera thought, excited. Two droid fighters swooped down behind it in pursuit, but all three quickly disappeared from her view. Eager to see more, she pressed her head into the opening as much as she could manage and looked upward, her jaw dropping at the sight of dozens more ships zipping back and forth across the sky in their deadly dance. Even farther overhead, she could just make out the outlines of Republic cruisers in the blackness of space, with swarms of tiny ships surrounding them like gnats on a rycrit._

_Everything she knew faded to the background. For a few blissful minutes, nothing else existed aside from herself and the ships. She yearned to be up there, in the middle of them. But the longer she sat watching, the more of them blinked out of existence, bright explosions signaling their ends. One descended in flames, like a shooting star falling to the ground, only to crash somewhere across the valley. The longer it went on, the more terrible the scene became, and the fantasy faded, allowing reality to come crashing back into her mind._

_A sense of shame ate away at her insides. Papa was somewhere out in all that, and Mama needed her. She’d said she could be brave, and she had run away anyway._

_“Will you be a helper?” Mama had asked._

_Help. She had to go back and help._

* * *

Time was irrelevant.

Had an hour passed? Had millennia? Hera couldn’t have estimated the time had she tried. All that existed were the endless waves of torment crashing over her, one after another after another until every moment blurred together into seemingly infinite surges of pain, swaying back and forth with Hera as she hung from her arms around the apprentice midwife’s neck.

“That’s it, Hera. You’re doing beautifully.”

Hera didn’t believe that for a second, but she nodded anyway. 

She could feel the ryll still at work in her system, but its effect on the pain had dimmed, hardly even scraping the edge off the contractions, or at least so she thought. The moments between were all a blur, exhaustion working hard to drag her under where the pain could not. She’d long since given up trying to estimate how much time might be left before this was all over. Her mind didn’t have the capacity to solve such questions, even if there were answers to be found.

In one of her more lucid moments, Hera vaguely registered the firing of the ship’s sublight engines. _Must be moving to a more secure location._

The moment didn’t last long.

“Aagh!” she cried out. 

“Remember: breathe, then dive deep,” Mama Sura reminded her. 

Hera lowered her arms to grab her work table for support, and plunged herself into another memory. 

*

_Large tears rolled down her cheeks as the stinging bit deep._

_“Oh, my heart, have you scraped your knees again?”_

_Hera nodded and tried to hold her tears in, but it was no use. It hurt!_

_Mama bent down to examine them, wiping away the dirt and blood with a clean cloth. The cool sensation eased the pain a little bit. A small bacta bandage relieved it even more._

_“There. All patched up. You’ll be fine again in no time.”_

_“Thanks, Mama.” Hera hugged her mother, and off she ran._

_*_

“There, Hera. One more breath.”

Hera did as instructed and filled her lungs as the pain lessened. Láreh handed her the mug of broth again, and Hera accepted it gratefully, even if its help felt futile. Mama Sura pressed a cool cloth to her head. Never had the ship felt so hot before. 

“Thanks,” Hera said. 

“Now close your eyes. Let all your muscles become loose as the pain floats away. You must not hold onto the tension; it only makes the pain worse,” the midwife admonished.

“I’m trying, but it’s so hard.”

Láreh laid a hand on Hera’s shoulder and began rubbing small circles across her back. “You are doing wonderfully. It’s not an easy thing to do.”

“How do women survive this?” Hera asked, only half-joking.

“The same way that you are—one contraction at a time.”

Another pain began to build, and Hera moaned.

“Let go, Hera,” Mama Sura whispered at her ear. “You can do this.”

_Let go . . ._

*

_“But–” she started to say. “But you’re–”_

_With a wry smile, Kanan put his finger to her mouth. “Shh. Don’t tell anyone.”_

_Hera gaped at Kanan for a long moment in wonder. A thousand questions filled her mind, even as a dozen others suddenly found their answer. She caught herself dearly hoping she’d eventually get to hear all their answers. But for now, she simply gave a gentle smile and nodded. “Let’s go.”_

*

“The heartbeat remains strong,” Láreh said, smiling as she set aside the small wooden horn. 

“That’s– that’s good.” Hera nodded quickly, brushing her hand across her belly. The baby had been unusually quiet, and it made her nervous—or perhaps she simply didn’t have enough awareness to gauge their movements in the midst of the overpowering contractions.

But if her child wasn’t okay . . . kriff, she couldn’t even think about that. Every hope and dream she currently had resided in her womb.

She had to trust the Force that she’d make it through this. That the baby would make it through this. And someday very soon, she’d show them the stars.

*

_“Come, Hera. You will love to see this.”_

_Hera followed her father into the ship, in awe of the dizzying array of buttons and switches before her eyes. “Can I learn to fly it, Papa? Can I?”_

_“When you are a little older, of course. Ryloth will always need good pilots.”_

_“I will be the best!”_

_“I have no doubt. But for now, I will fly you. Buckle in.”_

_The ship left the ground. Hera’s heart and imagination soared. The clouds grew close in moments. The stars must be just beyond them._

_*_

Oh stars, it hurt! It never really stopped hurting, the echoes of the pain continuing even after her belly grew soft. Hera’s hands shook and her legs trembled beneath her. “I need to lie down.”

Other hands helped ease her down. But the mattress felt no better, no better at all. She might as well have been lying on solid stone.

Someone began to softly hum.

*

 _“Sleep now, precious child.  
_ _Safe you are in my arms.  
_ _The moons are high and bright now.  
_ _No gutkurrs will bring you harm.”_

_Mama’s voice echoed in her mind as Hera drifted into the world of dreams._

_*_

“Slow your breathing, Hera. In through your nose, out through your mouth.”

Hera struggled to follow Láreh’s direction. Her entire body felt like a tightly coiled spring straining to burst from its casing. She wanted to relax—she did—but the more intense the contractions grew the more distant that goal became. It felt like only the vainest of hopes now. 

Peace. Peace was so hard to find. 

_*_

_“You know, Hera. Someday there won’t be a war. We could have a life afterwards. Together.” Kanan’s fingers tangled with hers._

_“Even you don’t know that, Kanan.”_

_“I know that I–”_

_“Please don’t say it. Not right now.” She brought her fingers to rest gently on his lips._

_Kanan nodded, and the light dimmed a little in his eyes. But he kissed her hungrily anyway, and passion—well, Hera could allow herself and Kanan that. So she did._

*

Kanan—She needed him beside her. She didn’t want to do this without him. It was so unfair! And there had to be _something_ he could have done with the Force to ease this for her. Hell, maybe he couldn’t. That probably wasn’t a skill small Jedi kids ever learned. 

Not that it mattered. She just needed _him_. Just his presence would be enough. _Why did he have to die? Why had anyone she’d loved?_

*

 _“Sleep now, precious child.  
_ _This warm cave is our home . . .”_

_The ground trembled a little with the force of another bomb detonating somewhere far above. Hera curled even closer to Mama._

*

The shaking wouldn’t stop. Hera’s arms and legs trembled under her as she knelt on the mat, and her teeth chattered.

Mama Sura placed a warm hand on her lower back. “Don’t fight it. It’s just the surge of adrenaline. Your body is preparing for the birth.” 

“I can’t stay like this.” Slowly, Hera tried to change position, taking the apprentice’s hands and sitting back on her heels for a moment, but that felt just as terrible. “I need . . . 

“What do you need?” Láreh asked.

“I don’t know!” Hera cried. Everything hurt, and she was so, so hot. She tugged at her gown; light as the fabric was, it was still too much. “I need this off.” 

Her flight cap followed soon after, landing crumpled in a corner.

The removal brought a few moments of sweet, cool relief, as one of the women fanned her form, now nearly naked as the day she’d been born— _or the day she and Kanan had conceived this kid_ , Hera thought wryly before the ever-evolving agony consumed her again. 

_*_

_Kanan beneath her, inside her, thrusting deeper within her._

_Deeper. Deeper!_

_So much pressure._

_*_

Hera groaned. “It feels like something is coming out.” 

An intense pressure low in her pelvis grew with every contraction that wracked her body. “Oh, szu’tak. I think I have to push!” 

“One moment, child. Breathe through this next one. I need to examine you first.” Mama Sura bent to grab a new glove from her supplies.

Hera tried. She tried with all her might, but the pressure was strong. So strong. Hera felt as if she’d left her body on autopilot and forgotten how to disengage it. “I can’t stop it!”

“It’s almost done. Hold on. Blow the contraction away.”

Hera bent her head down and gripped the edge of the mattress in front of her, while releasing a deep breath. The stars in her vision slowly receded from view. 

“Now open your legs a little wider. Yes, that’s it.”

Hera bit her lip against the added pressure of the midwife’s fingers.

“Beautiful. When you have a contraction, you can push. The cervix has dilated completely, and I think this will be quick.”

“You do?” A flash of hope surged in Hera’s chest. _Was the end actually in sight?_

“Yes, the child’s head feels small, and it has no lekku.” 

“No lekku,” Hera echoed, stunned. 

“No,” Mama Sura repeated. “The bones are smooth, as a human child’s would be, no ridges or lekku buds that I may feel.”

 _Human hair, no lekku. What other human features would the baby have? What other of Kanan’s features?_ she wondered idly. She tried to picture the newborn in her arms.

But another contraction came, and all wondering—all conscious thoughts of any kind—ceased.

*

_Kanan’s eyes—were they blue again? Her own eyes must be deceiving her. It was the light—the flames. It had to be._

_But there they were—the color that had haunted her dreams for over two years since it had been obscured, the color of Ryloth’s oceans as seen from orbit, the color of the Lothal sky just after the sunrise._

_*_

“Harder, Hera. Harder! That’s it! Another push. Try to get at least three strong pushes with each contraction.”

Hera didn’t know where the strength to do so came from, but she didn’t question it. She pushed.

_*_

_“Higher, Papa! Higher!”_

_He tossed her and caught her and tossed her and caught her again and again and again._

_*_

“Again, that’s it!” You can do this, Hera,” one of the women said.

“You’re almost there. I can see the head now. So much hair!” added the other. 

“Goddess, bless the mothers . . .” Hera whimpered, gripping Mama’s necklace tightly in her fist. 

She pushed.

_*_

_“But why does the Starbird have to be reborn through fire too, Mama? Why?”_

_“It is the same for_ all _of us. It’s the fire inside us that makes us alive.”_

_*_

“One more! Push and you will meet your baby!”

Hera tried to comply, but the pain had grown exponentially worse with every push. Her lower regions felt as if an inferno had been lit directly below. 

“I can’t!” she wailed. 

“Push now!”

_*_

_Kanan’s arms tightened around her. She buried her face into his chest._

_“We’ll see each other again. I promise.”_

_*_

She was the universe, and the fire of a thousand suns blazed within her.

Hera pushed. She screamed. 

She burned from the inside out. 

* * *

_“I’m here, Mama. I’m here.” Hera pressed close to her mother’s side._

_Mama’s hand squeezed hers so tightly that Hera thought her fingers might break, and every time her mother screamed, Hera squeezed back just as hard, praying to the goddess that it all might be over soon._

_“You’re almost there, just a little more,” Mama Sura urged._

_A sudden flash of curiosity overcame her fear, and Hera dared to look. A small circle of dark orange was visible between her mother’s legs._

_Then Mama growled, something deep and fierce, like a mazer on a hunt._

_“That’s it, Manar! Push again!”_

_Hera stared transfixed as the circle grew and grew, impossibly larger with every push her mother gave. She couldn’t have looked away had she wanted to. Then with one last piercing shriek, a whole, tiny head emerged._

_“Now breathe! Breathe. One small push.”_

_In the blink of an eye, arms and a belly and legs all tumbled out, followed by a gush of fluid that splattered Hera’s knees, wet and warm._

_A rush of colors swam before her eyes—green legs, small orange limbs, red hands, red blood._

* * *

“Hera.”

“Open your eyes, Hera.”

 _Too tired._ She couldn’t do it. 

“You have a son.”

 _I have a what?_ For a moment, the words made no sense in Hera’s mind, like echoes reverberating across a great chasm, back and forth, back and forth, so many times their syllables all blended together into a seamless cacophony.

But then another sound met her ears. A cry. Wordless yet rich with meaning, it started small, barely a squeak, then crescendoed into a squall of vehement protest, strong and angry. 

Hera finally blinked her eyes open. Willing herself to meet the source of the sound, she turned to look behind her. 

_Green legs, small orange limbs, red hands, red blood._

She blinked to clear her vision, trying to disentangle the past from the present, and focused again on the small being that wriggled and kicked on the mattress just behind—almost below her—as if fighting the efforts of the apprentice to dry them.

To dry _him_. 

“A son,” she whispered—a statement, rather than a question. 

“Come, let us help you turn.” Mama Sura placed a hand on her shoulder. “Take care, the child is still attached.”

Hera examined the cord tying her to the baby and gauged the space she had. Her hands and knees continued to tremble underneath her, making the effort feel enormous, but somehow she did it anyway. One small move at a time, she turned herself around, following the midwife’s directions, lifting her legs so as not to get tangled. Mama Sura placed pillows against the bench behind her, and Hera leaned back into them gratefully, tossing her necklace over her shoulder to get it out of the way.

“Are you ready?” Láreh asked. 

Hera nodded.

“Come, _lia’rn_. Your mama wants to meet you.” Láreh scooped the baby up from the mat.

Wordlessly, Hera held out her arms, reaching for him, everything in her aching to hold the small being close. And she gasped in awe as the student lifted the still-protesting baby and laid him in the center of her chest, covering them both with a blanket.

It was inevitable. It was right. It was gravity. 

Almost immediately, the child’s cries settled, his wails quieting to soft breaths against her skin. His tiny limbs relaxed and ceased their fight. Hera likewise let her eyes fall closed. 

She had a son. She was a mother. 

The hours of pain seemed to melt away, and for a few minutes she sank into the blissful peace, letting it carry her along like a gentle stream. She couldn't have told where she ended and the baby began. They floated along together.

Then she felt the baby lift his head for a second, and the trance fell away as curiosity and awe overcame her fatigue. 

_What did he look like?_ She didn’t yet know.

A full, thick head of hair was the first sight to greet her eyes. In the dim light, the hair appeared dark, and it was still matted down with blood, but a small smile tugged at the corner of her lips as she ran a finger over it. How soft it would be as he grew! Then the tiny boy lifted his head again in response to her touch and shifted a little, enabling her to take in more of his features. 

Orange-tinged skin that transitioned to a light green—much like hers—on the tips of his ears and his scalp.

A tiny nose. 

Soft, sweet lips. 

Miniature peaked eyebrows.

. . . the forms of all of them familiar echoes of a face she’d gazed upon for years, features she’d traced with her eyes and hands in the dim light of this very cabin over and over.

Her heart ached at the thought. 

And then her son opened his eyes, revealing their soft gray-blue depths, and Hera’s breath caught in her throat. 

The baby blinked. 

Hera blinked back. She _knew_ those eyes.

_We’ll see each other again. I promise._

All the pieces slotted together. He looked like _him._ And not just a little. The resemblance was so strong she could hardly bear it. 

Unbidden tears crept their way into Hera’s eyes. A couple threatened to spill over, and she fought them back as best as she could, taking careful, measured breaths. 

Then a comforting warmth pressed on her shoulder, like the warm, strong hand she always used to hold. After all these months, Hera supposed she might have expected it—that warmth that seemed to return just when she needed it the most.

“We have a son,” she whispered. Wherever Kanan was in the Force, could he hear her? Could he see what their love had created?

The baby shifted his head a little more, and his own gaze drifted off into the space over her shoulder. Hera froze. The warmth flared hotter, firmer, somehow more solid and real than she’d ever felt it before. So close. An echo of joy flashed through her, followed by a single moment of regret—as if it were a hello and goodbye all rolled into one. Hera felt a finality in it, a release, and she scrambled to hold on.

But she couldn’t. 

She had to let go.

And then it was gone, leaving the gaping emptiness of reality and her rapidly chilling skin behind. 

The tears flowed. 

Hot, blinding tears poured from Hera’s eyes as she clutched the baby tightly to her chest. Innumerable thoughts churned in her mind until nothing made sense any more—sorrow, anger, joy, loss, gain, all inextricably tangled together into an emotional maelstrom she couldn’t hope to see her way through. The baby also began to cry, his tiny wails piercing Hera’s heart. 

Hands—solid, corporeal ones this time—rested on her shoulders. Another rubbed gentle circles on her back. 

“I know, _xaicey_. I know,” Mama Sura whispered.

 _They didn’t know. How could they?_ But Hera leaned into the women anyway, letting their presences steady her, ground her.

And as it had, time and time again over the past several months, eventually the storm abated, the broken reservoir of emotion all drained yet again. The baby likewise calmed against her chest.

Mama Sura smiled at her gently, and stroked her hand across the baby’s fuzzy head. “We cannot change the past, but now you hold the future.”

Hera nodded wearily. The midwife’s words resonated deep within her gut, even if she couldn't spare much thought to their full meaning right now. Then a cramp, the first she’d felt since the birth made her wince. “Something hurts.”

Láreh bent to look between her legs. “I think it’s ready.”

“I need you to give me a few more pushes now,” Mama Sura said.

“What is it?”

“The afterbirth is coming now.”

“Oh.” Hera groaned at the continued discomfort but did as she was instructed, grimacing as the midwife pulled something large, but soft, out from inside of her.

“There. It is all out,” Láreh announced, inspecting closer. “You don’t need any stitches.”

The women set to cleaning, transforming her and her room nearly back to a normal state in a matter of minutes, the bed on the floor and the baby in her arms almost the only remaining evidence of what had just happened. 

_It’s over. We made it_ , she thought, looking down at the child, now lifting his head on and off to look at the things around him and occasionally licking his lips. His wakefulness astonished her. She couldn’t remember much about the smallest babies she’d been around when she was young—about her brother. Had he been the same way?

Muffled voices spoke outside Hera’s door, and her awareness of the world outside her cabin returned. Hera looked up. _The day’s work isn’t over yet, young one,_ she thought.

It was time. Time to make amends. Time to find a way forward after everything that had happened. They’d done it before. They could do it again. She sighed.

“I need to speak to my father.”

The two women shared a glance and Mama Sura nodded then rose. “You should have some time for privacy. We will step out.”

Hera looked up at them. “Thank you. For everything.”

Mama Sura bent and took her hand, enfolding it in both of her own and looking deep into her eyes. “Your _tislera_ would be so proud.” 

A couple new tears, tears for a loss she hadn’t allowed herself to cry over in a long time, welled up in Hera’s eyes. “Mama,” she murmured.

“And now you are the mama. Everything she had lives in you, and it is enough.”

Hera wasn’t sure she’d ever feel like she was enough as a mother. She could only respond with a nod, taking steady, even breaths until the welling fountains ebbed away again and the woman, satisfied, released her hand, gently replacing it on the baby’s back.

“We will return in a little while. The baby will want to eat soon. Call us, and we will come help.” Láreh opened the door with a crate in her arms and disappeared into the hallway, followed by Mama Sura. Seconds later another shadow appeared, and Hera looked up to see her father standing there, much as he had earlier.

“You can come in,” she said softly, lapsing back into Basic without a thought. 

He nodded and closed the door behind him, crouching down to kneel on the floor next to her, his gaze fixed with wonder on the baby. His face looked pale and drawn, lines she’d never really noticed before etched deeply between his brow ridges and under his eyes.

And she’d certainly never seen him so quiet—so at a loss for words—as she had now twice in the same day.

Her own voice came out in a croaking whisper. “I’m sorry, father.”

He finally looked up from the baby to her, grief and sorrow flooding his features. “You tried to tell me, didn’t you?”

His reply caught her by surprise. _Had she? Only obliquely at best._ “Not hard enough,” she admitted. “And I’m sorry.”

He shook his head, his typical stubbornness returning. “No, my daughter. You have nothing to be sorry for. It is I who should apologize. I pushed you too hard. I didn’t listen to what you were trying to say, only choosing to hear what I wanted to hear, and we have both paid the cost for it.”

“Father . . .”

“It is my great shame that I remained so far away and did not support you through this trial as a father should, Hera,” Cham continued on hurriedly, “I should have come to the Rebellion months ago. I thought that you needed time and space, but I see now that it was my own foolishness and pride keeping me from you—from mending the broken bond. And I was never the father you needed as a child; when your mother died I didn’t–“

“Peace, father,” Hera interrupted, reaching out to lay a hand on his arm. She waited a moment before continuing, satisfied when she felt him relax a little at her touch. “We both know that I share the blame just as much as you.” 

She’d spent months trying to forget that one call, to put it out of her mind and go on with life as if nothing had ever happened, all the while feeling the loss acutely. “I thought about contacting you . . . many times. And I just . . . didn’t. I always found some excuse not to. And I’m sorry.” 

Cham gave a small, hopeful smile and touched the ends of his lekku together in front of his chest. Hera smiled weakly in return and then did the same, grateful for the vague semblance of peace that settled in her heart as she did so. Maybe they could find a way forward after all.

It was the only way they _could_ go. 

The baby nuzzled his face around on Hera’s chest, and she turned her attention to him. A proper introduction was in order. “This is your grandson,” she said, looking back down at the baby. 

“He’s . . . incredible. To be quite honest, I never thought you would get around to giving me one of those.” 

Hera laughed a little. “Neither did I, really.”

Cham bent closer to inspect the tiny boy’s features, a bittersweet smile crossing his face. “He looks like his father.”

Hera nodded, unable to find words to reply as a few tears managed to well their way up again; how she had any left, she couldn’t fathom. She thought she’d already been over this. Her lower lip trembled.

“I know, daughter. I know.”

_Maybe he did, a little._

Hera inhaled a deep breath and let it out again slowly, eager to steer the conversation back toward lighter fare. “His skin tone looks like yours.”

“I see a little of you in there.” Cham gestured to the faint patches of green on the tips of her son’s ears, on the crown of his head. He bent nearer. “Is all that hair green?” 

“Huh?” Hera looked closer at the dark hair and sat forward to examine the sheen it gave off in the light. It was difficult to see under the drying blood but had a decidedly green hue. “I think it is!” 

An image popped in her mind of a young, mostly human-looking boy with orange skin and green hair, and Hera let out a laugh. Her father joined in. Of all the ways she’d tried to picture how the baby might look, this hadn’t been one she’d imagined. But he was real, and that was better. 

“Will you name him after his father?”

Hera looked back at her father. “No,” she said quietly but decisively. “I thought about that, but it didn't feel right. He doesn’t need his father’s name—he’s my living memory. And those names, the names of a Jedi, are dangerous.” 

She paused a minute, letting her thoughts on that point coalesce. She’d long pondered what to name the baby, sorting through all sorts of human and Twi’lek names. Names meant something—had the power to shape an entire life, for good or bad. She couldn’t just pick something random because it sounded nice; it needed to have a meaning, a purpose. 

So when it came to naming a boy, she’d always returned to one. 

Hera’s mind drifted back to a not-dissimilar day now many years ago, to another tiny, orange-skinned boy cradled gently in his mother’s—her mother’s—arms, to a life cut short when it had barely begun.

Finally, she met her father’s eyes. “I– I want to name him Jacen. Jacen Syndulla.”

“Jacen,” Cham said. His face looked stricken, and tears welled up in his eyes. Hera had expected him to be upset, but she hadn’t seen him this emotional since her mother had died. 

Hera nodded again. 

“Yeah,” she said, her voice rough. Hera trailed her fingers across her son’s hair, and then, on an impulse, reached over to grasp her father’s hand and bring it up to do likewise. “Jacen. A new start for all of us.” 

“Jacen,” Cham echoed, gently stroking his fingers across the thick fuzz. “It’s . . . right.” 

For his part, Jacen simply lifted his head and gave an agitated squawk, opening his mouth furiously at Hera’s chest. 

Something clicked in Hera’s mind. “Are you hungry?” She shifted Jacen a little lower, pleasantly surprised when he quickly took to the breast without too much fumbling on her part and began suckling. A powerful sense of relief and relaxation swept over her. Her eyes dropped closed and she leaned back for a few quiet moments.

When Hera glanced at her father again, he sat in reserved thought by her side, his gaze now fixed on the opposite wall—on the kalikori. A tiny spike of anxiety shot through her. _What might he be thinking about it?_

Then it occurred to her—she’d been wrong about so many things; she had no idea what he’d truly thought about her addition of Kanan to the family legacy. Her experience of their prior conversation had been inextricably colored by her grief. She’d thought he’d been disappointed, but none of that bore out on his face now. All she saw was calm contemplation, tinged with sorrow. 

It was a look she saw in the mirror often. 

“It is time for a new piece, don’t you agree?” Cham said, registering her observation. 

Hera felt the solace in those words, the hopeful plea behind them. She hardly knew what to say. “Yeah.” She nodded. “It is.”

He said nothing more, only gave a small smile that spoke volumes more than any language could ever say. Hera’s courage grew. 

“Papa?” she said tentatively, slipping back into Ryl.

Cham’s eyes shone at that name. 

_How many years had it been since she’d last used it?_

“What is it, Hera?”

Hera rested her head back on the pillows. “Thanks for being here. This wasn’t what I had planned, but I think it’s what I needed.”

Cham remained quiet for a long moment. “Such is life sometimes,” he said softly.

“I’m learning that.”

They sat in silence for some minutes, and Hera basked in the calm, the sense of peace and restoration that stole over her, the gentle opening and closing of the baby’s small fists against her chest as he continued his meal.

Somehow her forgotten necklace managed to slip down from her shoulder, the kyber crystal dropping almost directly into Jacen’s hand. She reached to pull it back out of the way when his tiny fingers closed around it.

“Is that your mother’s–” her father started, but his words ceased, and both he and Hera gaped in awe as the soft glow of the crystal rapidly brightened. Streams of brilliant blue light poured out between Jacen’s tiny fingers, which themselves glowed warm around the gem. The light found its way to the darkened corners of the room, banishing every shadow and the unseen demons lurking therein. Heat emanated from the crystal, warming Hera from her head to her toes, and yet it did not appear to burn the baby’s fragile skin.

Half of Hera’s heart soared at the sight, at the connection Jacen had instinctively formed, at the incredible potential she knew beyond any doubt resided in those small hands, while the other half grieved, at the sorrows that had led them here, at the uncertainty and secrecy that lay before them, at the thought of bringing up her bright, unique boy in the midst of such overwhelming darkness.

But he was brightness nonetheless. He was a shining star, a beacon of hope. Their orbits were now inextricably linked, whatever the fight ahead might bring. And she would face it all for him.

“The future of the Force burns bright,” Hera whispered, recalling the words of the blind man in black and red, letting them sink into the marrow of her bones, their certainty reassuring her.

“What was that?” her father asked. 

“Nothing, really.” Hera caressed Jacen’s head, reminding herself that he was solid. He was real. He was in her arms. “Just something I heard someone say earlier.”

“Hmm.”

Hera smiled. “They were right.”

Her son’s future was bright, and she’d let nothing convince her otherwise.

* * *

_“What do you think about your_ nerra _, my heart?”_

_Hera scooted closer to kneel at her mother’s side, bending to get a good look at the baby nursing at Mama’s breast. He was very small. His orange skin looked a lot like Papa’s, but where Papa had long lekku, the baby’s head had just small, firm nubs where his lekku would one day be, and his forehead was mostly smooth and flat. Every now and then, he blinked his large, round eyes open, and a glint of soft brown caught Hera’s gaze._

_“He is cute, but . . .” Hera looked away. The sound of her mother’s screams was still fresh in her memory, and her stomach felt like it was tied into a hundred knots. “I never want to do that, Mama.”_

_“Perhaps you will. Perhaps you will not. That is for you to decide.” Her mother smiled fondly and reached up to stroke her cheek, then down to do the same to the tiny baby boy on her chest. “But if you do, even when it hurts, remember that it is worth it. It always is.”_

_Hera grimaced, but nodded anyways. Mama always did turn out to be right. And the baby_ was _cute. Following her mother’s lead, she reached out and gently stroked her fingers across the baby’s head, marveling at how soft it was to touch._

_The baby wiggled under her fingers and stretched an arm out, before resuming his vigorous suckling._

_Hera smiled._

* * *

“Get some sleep, Hera. We’ll all keep watch. You need it.”

“Thanks, Zeb.” Wearily, Hera walked the last few steps and hit the entry button to her room. Even walking to the cockpit to check on the ship’s status and send a brief coded message back to Yavin IV, after a quick trip to the refresher, had sapped her of the little energy reserve she’d had left.

And while the ship’s chronometer might have claimed that it was 0600, Base One time, the many hours she’d been awake wore heavily on her body, especially now that all traces of adrenaline had finally worn away. 

Once inside, Hera’s eyes met again with only darkness, but when the door closed behind her, they quickly adjusted to the small amount of light, most of it filtering through the fabric of her gown, radiating from the hidden talisman around her neck. In the dim glow, she could make out the bundled form of the baby—her baby—sleeping quietly on the mattress, which was still on the floor but now pushed up against the cabinets. 

Were it not for that, it would be hard to tell that anything unusual had happened in the space at all. Every other trace of the birth had somehow disappeared in the intervening hours.

Slowly, Hera eased herself back down onto the mattress, trying to ignore the soreness throughout her body, the deep ache in her pelvis. No matter what the room looked like, her body wouldn’t soon forget.

She pulled a blanket over herself and tucked her arm under her head to lay on her side, her eyes drawn like a magnet back to Jacen. The necklace tumbled out of her gown to rest against the mattress, drenching them both in its crisp, blue glow.

With a soft smile, Hera removed the beaded strand from her neck. Cupping it in her hand, she held it closer to the child, watching with renewed wonder as the gem pulsed even brighter at the proximity to her son—to Kanan’s son. Jacen sniffled in his sleep and squirmed a little against the swaddling blankets. A fleeting smile crossed his tiny face, before he settled back into a deep slumber.

Hera’s heart twisted with joy and sorrow in equal measure at the sight. 

What must it be like, to come into the galaxy so new, so innocent? So completely unaware of the chaos and danger that awaited them beyond the quiet confines of the _Ghost’s_ walls?

Even now, the ship drifted in orbit around a small moon, none of its occupants at all certain of the next best move in a galaxy where a planet-killer roamed free. Knowing the Empire, not a single planet or moon was safe from its reach—not Yavin IV, not Ryloth, certainly not their beloved Lothal. 

Just the thought nearly overwhelmed Hera, and tears began to well up in her eyes again—hot, angry tears that any child should have to be born into what they were facing, let alone the added threats Jacen faced simply for who he was. 

Hera beat the tears back, taking a few deep breaths to steady herself. She’d shed more than enough for today.

She’d had enough of sorrow, and when the time was right, she would return to fighting, to doing everything she could to give her son a free galaxy to grow up in. But she’d learned the hard way that the moments they had together were all too short, and she was determined not to let any of them slip away—not to let her fears, or ambitions, get in the way of appreciating the gift she’d been given. 

_What a gift he was!_

Hera looked back at the child beside her, his tiny face radiating pure contentment and peace in the glow of the kyber. He was beautiful. She reached out a hand and stroked the silky softness of his cheek. He stirred a little under her touch.

A thousand overwhelming feelings crowded her heart, a thousand thoughts filled her mind. Things she wanted to say, things she wished she could say. She wished she could promise him the moons and the stars. 

_Which ones?_ Any of them. All of them. 

_‘I’ll always keep you safe.’_

_‘I’ll always be right beside you.’_

But they sounded so hollow . . . these promises she knew she could never keep. 

War was still war. Children died. Mothers died. This very moment, they floated aimlessly in space with no way of knowing what the next day might bring, let alone the months and years to come.

Hera took slow, deep breaths until the anxieties that perpetually flickered inside of her were extinguished, leaving only ragged exhaustion behind. It would be so easy to let that anxiety kindle again, so easy to get lost in a spiral of dark thoughts. 

But she refused to do it. Not now. Not anymore. 

She pulled Jacen close to her chest, and pressed a kiss to his forehead, smiling as he wriggled a hand free from his wrappings. She laid a finger on his palm, and her heart filled with warmth when his tiny hand closed around it. 

Hera yawned and closed her eyes. Her mind drifted closer to slumber, and with relative ease, she slipped into meditation, all thoughts floating away until the galaxy itself ceased to be, nothing existing beyond herself and the child now outside of her womb but entangled inextricably in her orbit. She could see them in her mind—two stars, cradled in the dark—a binary system dancing through the galaxy to the music of the universe, the rhythm pulsing in time with the beating of their hearts. Once only a tiny flicker of light, of hope, in her belly, transformed into a luminous lodestar—Jacen’s star shone fiercely hot and bright like the blue of Kanan’s crystal—now his son’s crystal—in her hand, her own light glowing beside him as that of a steady, warm yellow sun. 

The connection between them unshakeable and immutable as gravity itself. 

Tranquility and joy passed back and forth between mother and son, like the waves on a placid lake in the soft rays of dawn. And Hera basked in the sense of peace and warmth that flowed through her, willing it to return to Jacen in equal measure. 

Sleep had begun to steal over her, when one last thought crept into Hera’s mind, breaking her meditation. 

_‘Warmth’ wasn’t an adequate word for what she felt at all._

It was something else entirely—deeper, stronger, more powerful than life and death itself. An unshakeable truth in three words she’d once learned to say too late. 

Three words she could never say too much.

One promise that would always ring true. 

Hera bent her head closer to Jacen’s ear. 

“I love you,” she whispered. “No matter what happens, I always, _always_ will. I promise.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks again to all of you! At this point in time, I'm considering this series complete, although I may write more _Ad Astra_ -adjacent stories in the future, as time and inspiration allows. 
> 
> You can still find me on **[tumblr](http://veritascara.tumblr.com/)** , living the Rebels/Star Wars life for updates and other nonsense.


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